Modulation Gone to Excess
by Fading Monochrome
Summary: A drunken mess in the mansion halls and a drunken conversation on the balcony are the results of a party gone wrong. Or well. Depending on the point of view. (Or, when Break really regrets trying to drink alone) Set in Retrace XXVIII


**A/N: I do not own Pandora Hearts nor do Jun Mochizuki's characters belong to me.**

There are some minor references and headcannons that I could not help but add. However, it shouldn't affect with the overall flow of the oneshot. There is a very minor OC that ended up takingallthespotlight though. Whoops.

This is my first fanfiction, and more importantly, my test run fic. Please bear with me. I'm mostly flailing blindly in the dark here.

* * *

 _ **Modulation Gone to Excess**_

* * *

The night was, needless to say, quite interesting when reflected back onto. It was all on the spot improvising, muddled by raging impetuous alcohol induced fervors that reduced the mansion commons to an unrecognizable mess.

Break mourned for the quiet morning and afternoon that had graced the mansion halls after Oz and Alice had yanked Gilbert down the stairs and out the door, all the while muttering something along the lines of school uniforms and uncovering Ada's lover.

Time passed by too quickly for his liking.

The trio had waltzed out the mansion doors amid the awakening bird twittering with their heads up high. And then had stumbled back through the doors in the early evening as if the weight of the whole world suddenly registered in their heads.

In hindsight, Break wondered if he should have given them a job to oversee instead of letting Oscar needle him into surrendering the three over to the aging Vessalius for a day.

* * *

It had started off tame: a quiet late-evening gathering of the academy reconnaissance group reflecting over their respective actions during their (mis)adventures, but all went downhill when Oscar barged in- uninvited but not unwelcomed- with the company of a couple of maids and a trolley of dark hued 'juice'.

Which, Break mused, unsurprisingly turned out to be wine.

As the pitchers readily emptied and faces flushed in colour, the quiet buzz in conversations quickly escalated into spirited yellings and boisterous bouncings across the hall as tempers frayed and tensions vented.

Too much.

Frowns deepened as laughter grew sharper, animosity between rocky relationships grinding and sparking until the bottles passed them by. After a few sips, cheerful teasing and halfhearted ribbing once again rode over the tempests in a bout of continuous merrymaking.

Merriment, which of course, that Break truthfully didn't really wanted to be a part of.

So pasting on his usual bland smile, Break hid himself behind Emily's cackles, planning to weather

through the festive storm with his wineglass that never seemed to empty itself no matter how many times he brought it to his lips. Oscar's dutiful presence- bringing his increasingly foolish smile and swaying bottle- sporadically popped up once in awhile ensured to the topping of his glass.

A silver lining on the grey cloud, Break supposed and perched himself on the arm of the sofa to drink the night away.

That was until the vases started to fall off the mantle on their own accord (bumped down by Oz after Alice blindsided him with a flying tackle. Something about acting out a damsel-in-distress scene where the princess would fly into the blond prince's arms and, uh, bowling the poor fool completely head over heels.) and furniture started mysteriously overturning (Sharon's beloved coffee table ended up overturned and grimy from spending half the night in the fireplace hearth. Thankfully, the night was warmly temperate, so the fireplace was empty of fire, albeit a bit sooty from negligence.)

And the bottles. Fallen off from the tables or dropped by a careless hand, the green glass bottles littered the carpeted floors just waiting for an unfortunate soul to step and trip over them. (Hollow green tinted glass, empty and delightful to bang together as Alice wobbled around the room, garbling out nondescript notes along to her self-created percussion)

Inwardly wondering of his absurd level of noise and chaotic tolerance levels, Break finally admitted defeat when Alice and Gilbert started pulling Oz in opposite directions, hugging the bemused blonde's arms and screaming bloody murder at each other; watching the name calling gradually escalate to physical tussling, Break idly wondered if the responsibility fell to him to break them up as he planned his escape.

But, as it turned out, he didn't need to raise a single finger, as Sharon diffused the situation perfectly, bringing out her chain-and-fan combo and threatening the cohorts that were making-too-much-noise-what-are-you-doing-apologize-this-instant-insolent-fools.

One smart comment from his alcohol loosened tongue, and Break eyed the huge tessen that Sharon held ready in her hand (where _does_ she keep those things?), backing away as her eyes gleamed murderously even as she smiled comely at him in her own terrifying way.

Eep.

And then found himself scurrying away from the festivities to idle away on the adjoining porch after muttering half-hearted insistences of needing fresh air to a suddenly clingy Sharon.

(Bow down before me and I will allow you to sit at my feet, knave!)

But again, company followed him, thankfully just one lonesome thing, in the form of a snarking blond haired child. They traded light banter for a moment, conversation deteriorating into heavy speculations quickly, and Oz cheerfully leaving Break to his own after sensing the older man's desire to be left alone.

But by this time, Break's mood had grown somber again and Gilbert stumbling into the scene hadn't really help lighten it. So the white haired Child of Misfortune merely pointed a lax hand back to where Oz had slipped back into the festivities and watched with an amused gaze as the golden eyed drunk totter slowly, like a moth attracted to bright sunny light, back into the chandelier-lit room.

Like a good little servant he was all those years back, Break mused idly; or a faithful puppy, awkwardly stumbling over too long limbs and unsteadily floundering towards his master with a desperation to catch up with him lest the blonde slips out his grasp again.

(Break wondered if he caught a flash of deep rooted fear in those hazy honey orbs in that single fleeting moment their gazes locked. But it was gone in the next moment, so Break chalked it up to mere alcohol illusions.)

But Break was content to let him be instead of (usually) exploiting the moment of weakness to tease the golden-eyed servant as he was finally alone. Just him, his wineglass, and his thoughts.

* * *

But of course, a loud crash from behind him jarred him away from quiet solitude.

Break flicked his empty wineglass with an absent minded fingertip as he turned to observe the odd scene behind him curiously, albeit a bit exasperatedly.

Through the half opened doors of the porch that rimmed with a soft golden light emanating from the indoor mansion lighting, a fuzzy image of the child contractor was tugging insistently at Gilbert, the black haired man sobbing drunkenly in fetal position on the floor, quite intoxicated to the point of incoherency.

A quite amusing sight for sore eyes. It was somewhat expected to happen at some point in the night though, as Gilbert never could hold his liquor very well.

The white haired contractor allowed for his lips to curl up into a faint rueful smile where it held still for half a second before vanishing, smoothing out as his mirth subsided.

And then turned to stare straight out into the rapidly approaching night, lips thinning into a grim line, his crimson orbs tracing the lingering shadows as they crawled between the talls pines of the forest, darkness stealing across the dim greenery.

They were nothing but blurry green-splashed blobs against the twilight sky.

He blinked twice and rubbed his eyes with a free hand before looking out again.

Still blurs dotted with blobs.

He allowed for a single quiet sigh to pass by his lips, leaning forward against the white balcony railing with his chin resting on his propped up elbows. Above him, the brightening stars winked down at the darkening world, the opaque moon rimming in the cloud strewn dusk.

Nothing but him staring out to the darkness with the soft glow of lights at his back and the mild whispers of alcohol lingering on his tongue.

He was far from drunk however; he wasn't even mildly tipsy either. A shame. It was impossible, perhaps, for him to drink himself to intoxication, to forget the world even for a brief moment, to maybe forget his impending death hanging over him like a constant spectre.

(A bout of unease turned his lips downward. Kevin Regnard. Now that was a ghost of legend worthy of forgetting. It was, quite, a past lifetime ago; hopefully enough time to let leave of him.)

He was too busy fighting to stay alive, the constant vigilance and nervous paranoia overriding any sort and amount of depressant forced into his body. Too busy worrying.

Too busy not trying to see his rapidly approaching quietus.

He was jealous (Break frowned slightly, pursing his lips in thought. Yes, that's the word) of Gilbert in a way, for his ability to submit willingly to alcohol and let it distance him from the world. Alcohol could temporarily cloud his mind and ease the burden off his shoulders, to forget the weight of the world for awhile.

But Break could not afford to die just yet.

He can't let down his guard just yet, can't submit to anything that would hamper his focus and neurotic drive.

Not yet.

A faint presence suddenly nuzzled against his awareness, dim with light alcohol fuzziness, lighty reminding him that Break was not so alone.

"Lovely night, hm?"

Break blinked, the familiar voice only keeping him from snapping into an alert persona. He let his eyes drop from the dimming sky to his direct right on nowhere in particular.

The white balcony shifted with refracted light, and Elica shivered into view, the female Pandora contractor sitting precariously on the protruding cement edge of the porch with her back against the railing, legs dangling out into the two story drop that separated the high balcony to the grassy lawn in front of the manor. She tilted her head back to glance at him, a smile playing across her lips.

He blinked down at his coworker, mildly alarmed. "Trying to practice your breakneck stunts again?"

She snorted, lightly rolling her eyes but smiled teasingly. "Hardly." She drew out the two syllables on her tongue and clicked her teeth together on the last consonance. "Never crossed my mind."

He eyed her for a moment, not entirely sure of her sincerity, but made a mental note to stretch a safety netting over the first floor at the next opportunity he had time. "Then that's quite a place to sit." He commented lightly and tilted his head. "You know there's chairs _on_ the porch."

She gave him an indulgent smile. "There's chairs anywhere you can make a spot to sit."

"Even the ones that you can fall off and go splat if you lose your balance?"

"Yes, especially those."

"...Are you drunk?"

She laughed breezily, her head lolling forward, dark bangs fluttering down to hide her profile. "Do you think I am?"

Break opened his mouth to deliver a dry response but she shook her head ruefully and waved a flippant hand in his general direction. "No. No, don't answer that."

He studied her a bit more closely, the younger (Maybe. Break wasn't too sure about the whole Abyss-screwing-up-the-biological-aging/reincarnation thing. He had learned early to take things in stride with a cheery smile and wave.) contractor looking more relaxed than on her days off, and raised an eyebrow. Dimly flushed cheeks fluorescent against the night tones. "You're drunk," he decided, ignoring her earlier demand.

She glanced fully at him, an amused smile stretching across her face, violet eyes locking onto his, the eerie twin orbs almost reflecting his image, suddenly sharp and piercing. "No. At least, not yet. But I aim to be by the night ends." She chuckled again, as if finding her goal to be hilarious. "Aren't you going to try?"

(Was that a challenge?) Break didn't bother to respond, only reflexively smiling in a non decisive manner.

There was a faint clink of bottles and Break looked down to see Elica produce a few bottles which she shook teasingly at him. "I picked these up a few weeks ago. I suppose now's the best time to crack them open."

She gestured invitingly at his glass on top the balcony railing just out of her immediate reach. "Dance awhile through the looking glass, Hatter."

 _And peer through the madness that lies/within the splintered shards._ (Break's lips twitched upwards in reminiscence at Elica's ad libbing from the various poems in the mansion's library) He gave a noncommittal shrug but gamely handed over his glass which she wasted no time in topping off, passing it back up to him, and filling up her own glass.

"Cheers to, uh, whatever people drink to."

She lifted her glass in a mock toast, her glass of wine sloshing slightly and taking a silver tint to it as it caught the evanescent reflection of the moon above.

Break watched her stealthily out of the corner of his eye as she sipped at her alcoholic drink, the stars still glimmering faintly in the wine from his viewpoint. (It was like drinking liquid silver, he mused, vaguely amused at his odd burst of sentimentality.)

She caught him looking and an odd smile graced her lips, full of morbid humor.

"I wasn't lying when I told you I got this through legal means. Drink up; I didn't poison it either."

"My my," Break gave her a wry smile, bringing the cup to his lips. "For you to have to say that. Now I _am_ afraid."

But contrary to his words, he sipped at his drink, the bittersweet liquid sliding smoothly over his tongue and down his throat, leaving a lingering scent of saccharine grape pungent in his nose.

And apart from the sporadic howling of the winds through the tall pines, comfortable silence fell between the two Pandora members, wreathed by the crisp smell of damp autumn leaves and distant strains of rosy laughter.

* * *

"Who? Oz and Alice? The children?"

"Technically they aren't children."

"No. Shtap." She reached out a blind hand between the railings to hit him lightly on the leg, a groan issuing from the back of her throat. "Don't throw technicalities into the whole abyss mess. If they look like brats, act like brats, then they're children to me."

She looked thoughtful for a moment before twisting around on her perch to stare deadpan at him. "Yup. Brat."

(Break wondered for a second if he was justified in kicking Elica off her balcony seat. Tempting. She was certainly still sober enough to make jabs at him...)

But he decided to be the better man and settled for glaring at her, silently plotting to sabotage her stash of coffee the next morning.

* * *

She made an odd noise at the back of her throat and then choked on a giggle. "Remember that stupid job I took because of you, Mister-I'll-tell-you-everything-but-the-most-crucial-bit-of-information-just-to-annoy-you?!"

Break held up his hands in bemused surrender and smothered a laugh, noting her somewhat glazed but violent sheen to her eyes. "The parade was lovely. You should've seen it." He quipped lightly.

Elica's eyes narrowed. "And because of that, I almost missed the damned target, knocked over a few dozen potential customers, tripped into a bowl of punch, and was banned from every concert hall in the district. All the while prancing around in a stupid frilly dress!"

* * *

"You're going to die, you know."

Break slanted his eyes downward at the subdued contractor, an ironic smile flaking away from his lips. "What? You're not petty enough for revenge because of that _one_ job, are you?"

She tossed him a halfhearted dark look and gave a one shoulder shrug. "Who knows," she muttered quietly through a sigh, all traces of humor gone from her tone.

* * *

"Sharon's worried about you."

"Aa."

Elica shook her head slowly. "And yet you _still_ won't listen."

Break's lips twitched upwards mildly. "I've been told that it's one of my most infuriating traits."

Another sigh. "You're a damn fool."

* * *

"It's quiet."

"Aa. No fake smiles. No creepy clowns. No white haired idiots."

"Ouch." Break placed a demure hand in front of his mouth. "I'm wounded so."

* * *

"Sometimes I want out. Out of all of this. This craziness. This, this Pandora's Box." Elica sighed dully with little dedication to her declaration and idly swirled the dregs of her wine around in her glass.

"You can't wash your hands of _this_ ," Break gestured around vaguely at the building behind him, "very easily."

"... No, I suppose not. But have you wondered what could have been?"

* * *

"Without the noise and the chaos?"

"Hm."

"Without discovering the whole truth behind the tragedy from a century ago?"

"..."

* * *

"Will you be content with that? You, who have searched all those years?"

"You know the answer yourself. We're too far down this rabbit hole, and the only thing to do is to wait for the invitation to the tea party."

* * *

"It would be nice… If this quiet moment would last a little longer…"

"Hah! Most unlike you."

* * *

"Right. Nevermind. Like there's _ever_ going to be a moment of quiet with Oz's group around."

"Cheers, then. To quiet nights."

Their glasses clinked together, the distant winking stars shivering in their cups.

* * *

The mess in the commons that greeted Break when he and Sharon came downstairs in the morning was nothing less than spectacular.

And as he stooped to pick up another half empty bottle from the floor after trading longing looks with Elica standing at the coffee grinder, Break silently vowed to chase Oscar off the mansion property- complete with sword waving and death threats- the next time the man barged in with alcohol on his person.


End file.
